


Broken Together

by alettepegasus



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 04:19:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16825012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alettepegasus/pseuds/alettepegasus
Summary: Pre-season 1. Adora breaks her arm during training, Catra is concerned, Shadow Weaver is a jerk."From her perch above the training grounds, Catra had noticed right away that the strikes from the training drone were coming a little too fast today; landing a little too heavy. Below her, Adora grunted with the effort of deflecting another blow. Still, it shouldn't take much longer now."





	Broken Together

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to write this about Adora but somehow Catra latched on. Tenacious kitty claws.
> 
> (This isn't edited aside from a quick read-through, so... read at your own risk. Please let me know if you find any spelling/grammatical mistakes!)

It hadn't been their fault.

Not that it really mattered.

From her perch above the training grounds, Catra had noticed right away that the strikes from the training drone were coming a little too fast today; landing a little too heavy. Below her, Adora grunted with the effort of deflecting another blow. Still, it shouldn't take much longer now, Catra thought. Another minute or so, and Adora would have the machine mostly subdued—and then Catra would swoop down and finish it off. Minimum danger, minimum effort, maximum reward. Plus, it would annoy Adora not to strike the final blow. Catra grinned and swished her tail.

Seemingly frustrated at its inability to land a strike on Adora, the drone wheeled about—and one of its arms instantly collided with Kyle, flipping him into the air. He landed hard on his back and the rest of the team groaned in annoyance.

“Get up, Kyle!” Lonnie yelled, blocking a strike.

When no response came, Adora spared a glance in his direction. “Kyle!” she shouted. The fall must have winded him--he was moving far too slowly.

In a flash, the machine made a run for easier prey and raised a giant metal arm to strike the cadet.

“ _Move_ , Kyle!” Lonnie shouted again. It was just a training bot, right? It wouldn't cause any real harm... right? But no... not today, she realized. Something was wrong today.

The arm fell.

An instant before the blow would have smashed Kyle's head, Adora appeared between him and the drone—arm upraised, green force shield active.

The shields were meant to dissipate energy blasts, not protect against physical attacks. The shield across her forearm cracked and vaporized instantly, and a quieter, more sickening crack followed. The half-strangled cry of pain that followed seemed louder than anything else in the room.

The drone was destroyed in seconds. Catra didn't remember doing it, but half of it was on the other side of the training arena, covered in claw marks, and and the other half was a smoking hulk behind her. She barely noticed.

“Adora!”

She slid to a stop next to her friend, who had dropped to her knees. Adora's eyes were tightly shut and her breath was coming in deep gasps too close together. She had a rigid, white-knuckle grip on the wrist of her injured arm, which—Catra cast her gaze down and cringed, ears involuntarily flattening—was absolutely _not_ supposed to bend in that location.

“Get Shadow Weaver,” Catra snapped at the other cadets who had formed an uneasy half-circle around them. Too startled to object, they nodded and ran.

“Catra?” Adora's eyes were slightly unfocused.

“Hey, dummy,” Catra responded in what she hoped was her normal, flippant tone. It sounded just a little too tight.

“That was really stupid.”

Adora gave a weak smile. “Yeah.”

“I mean, he probably wouldn't even have died.”

Adora gave a gasping laugh, still trying to steady her breathing. “You're awful.”

“This is news?”

The room darkened.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” came an enraged yell from the doorway, and Catra flinched despite herself. Well, Shadow Weaver had arrived fast. Shadowy tendrils shoved Catra roughly aside, and she steadied herself on all fours.

“ _We_ didn't do _anything_ ,” Catra hissed. “Your stupid drones were trying to kill us today.”

“These drones are training tools,” she emphasized. “Injuries on the training field are the result of _your incompetence_.”

Trust Shadow Weaver to blame Catra, even if she had no idea what happened.

“Come, Adora,” Shadow Weaver demanded. She turned and began to leave the room. Catra offered Adora a hand, which she gratefully accepted. She steadied herself on Catra's shoulder after regaining her feet, then the two of them began to leave the room.

“ _Alone,_ ” Shadow Weaver boomed. Catra froze.

The two girls exchanged a glance, then Adora gave Catra a reassuring smile. “I'll see you after training, okay?”

Catra nodded reluctantly.

* * *

Except she didn't.

Training passed by slowly, despite the fact that Catra was more engaged in the exercise than she had been in years. She must have ripped apart five more droids before the interminable training session finally ended—or the Horde got tired of her destroying their “training tools.”

After the world's fastest shower—turns out actually working during training makes you sweaty, which is gross—Catra made a beeline for the barracks.

Which were empty.

Adora wasn't in the mess hall, or even the medical room. Catra had checked that room quickly—there was a reason you were better off hiding if you got sick.

Where _was_ she?

Catra gritted her teeth together. She was worried, and she didn't like being worried. She liked admitting she was worried even less.

Stupid Adora.

She retraced her steps to the training room and sniffed experimentally. The scent was still there—the metallic, electric tang of Shadow Weaver's magic, as well as a warmer, more familiar smell. Adora. Catra followed the scent.

As she walked, Catra rubbed a hand across her forearm. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. It hadn't been a drone before, though; the ground had dropped away from her unexpectedly and the landing was much more... awkward than someone who was part cat would care to admit. She'd known from the searing pain in her arm that something was wrong. She hid it for a while, passing her silence off as embarrassment for having fallen in training, but Adora eventually noticed.

Unfortunately, her idea of helping was to bring her to Shadow Weaver.

“But I want to stay!” a younger Adora protested.

“Adora,” Shadow Weaver's voice had taken on that silky tone again; venom disguised as honey. “You want to be a successful cadet, don't you? Then you really _must_ get back to training.”

Adora had learned years ago to detect the threat in Shadow Weaver's seemingly gentle reprimands. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be led out of the room, casting a concerned glance back at Catra.

“I'll see you after training, okay?” Catra said. She didn't know why she was trying to reassure Adora when she herself was scared silly—the events of their ill-fated excursion into the Black Garnet room were burned indelibly into her mind.

Adora nodded. _Don't go._

“Yeah.” She gave Catra a smile, then the door shut behind her.

Shadow Weaver said she would help, and Adora, trusting and naive, believed her.

Magic revealed a cracked bone. Shadow Weaver told her to let the pain be a lesson and sent her away with nothing more than a tightly wrapped bandage and a warning against telling the cadets – any of them – that it was anything more than a sprain.

Oh—and if she failed to keep up with her training, her status as cadet would be revoked.

She learned to be much more judicious in her attacks after that, staying far out of range and only joining a battle when she could end it quickly. Even so, she wasn't perfect. She guessed the break must have cracked again at least twice before she was finally able to heal.

“Why haven't you taken off that bandage yet?” Adora had asked her one night. “It must be healed by now, right?”

Catra shrugged, flexing her arm to show off the bandage and ignoring the sharp twinge of pain caused by the motion.

“I like it. It's my new style.”

Adora just laughed and shook her head.

In the present, Catra shook off the memory and squeezed her arm, feeling the bump in the bone that had never disappeared. It still hurt sometimes. The sharp pain had faded long ago, and the dull ache she had learned to ignore. Sometimes, though, when it came at night, it was difficult to sleep. Those nights she always woke up at the foot of Adora's bed.

* * *

Eventually, the scent she had been following intensified and then dead-ended at locked door far, far away from the cadet wing.

“Adora?” She called softly through the door. “You in there?”

No response. Catra checked over her shoulder to ensure no one was watching, but this wing seemed to be fairly deserted. She glanced down at the number pad in the wall next to the door.

“Alright, Shadow Weaver,” she grinned. “Let's see what you've got.”

Catra had at least a dozen of Shadow Weaver's “secret” codes committed to memory. It wasn't hard to spy on the old woman from the rafters, and she had a predictable pattern to her codes once Catra had observed the first half-dozen or so. She'd started letting herself in to the Black Garnet room about a year ago—whenever she was sure Shadow Weaver was gone—just to move whatever wasn't nailed down ever so slightly out of place. It gave her great satisfaction to imagine the sorceress' annoyance.

So, it only took a few seconds before the door _whooshed_ open and Catra slipped inside.

It looked like an abandoned version of the medical room back by the barracks, but stacked with old boxes and reeking of Shadow Weaver's magic. Adora was laying on one of a few metal tables in the room.

Catra gasped involuntarily.

Adora looked about a hundred times worse than she had in the training room. Her face was sickly pale and covered in a thin layer of sweat, her tightly closed eyes had deep dark circles under them, and her breathing was ragged and harsh.

“Adora! What—” her eyes fell to Adora's injured arm. It was encapsulated in a strange, metallic, cast-like device that crackled with red and black light—Shadow Weaver's magic, Catra thought malevolently. It was clearly the source of Adora's pain. Perhaps it could be removed? She reached toward it, but as soon as her claw neared the magical field surrounding the device she received a sudden, painful jolt. Catra yelped, sticking her finger in her mouth. That hurt _way_ worse than a normal electric shock.

“Catra?” the voice was weak. Adora's eyes were barely open.

“Adora!”

“What—how did you find me?”

“It wasn't that hard. You really stink.”

Adora closed her eyes and huffed out a laugh.

“Rude.” The apparatus on her arm crackled with magic, and Adora winced. Catra's stomach twisted.

“What _is_ that thing?”

“Shadow Weaver,” Adora said. She sounded utterly exhausted. “It's... to help me heal. Mends broken bones in a day, but it” — she sucked in a breath — “it _really_ hurts. Punishment, too.”

Catra growled. Punishment for helping a cadet. Punishment for living up to Shadow Weaver's standards. Punishment for failure.

“Is she coming back?”

Adora shook her head slightly. “Not 'til tomorrow.”

Catra was at once relieved that Shadow Weaver wouldn't be back, and angry that she would leave Adora alone all night when the girl was clearly in agony. _This_ was how she treated her favorite?

“I'm gonna put a dead rat in her breakfast,” Catra mumbled.

Adora laughed a little. “Not if I do first.”

There was a moment of silence between them, broken only by Adora's uneven breathing.

“Is this what it felt like when your arm was broken?” Adora asked suddenly.

Catra's ears twitched in surprise. “What? I never—it wasn't broken. Just sprained.”

Adora made a quiet sound between amusement and exasperation. “Arms don't sprain in the middle, Catra.”

“You knew?”

“Of course I did.”

“Why didn't you _say_ anything?”

Adora shrugged as best she could while lying on the table, which looked twitching one shoulder. “Shadow Weaver obviously didn't want us to know. I figured it was better for you if I played dumb.”

She _had_ noticed. All this time, Catra thought she hadn't been important enough for her pain to be noticed, but it had. It felt... good. _She_ felt good.

So, naturally, she responded with an insult. “Not much of a stretch for you.”

“Takes one to know one, mouse-chaser.”

Catra threw her hands up in the air. “ONE time!”

Adora gave a real laugh at that, then winced as the movement jostled her injured arm. She curled slightly toward the apparatus. Accelerated healing was absolutely not worth feeling like her arm was being repeatedly set on fire and stabbed by a thousand needles.

“You should try to sleep,” Catra said. “You'll probably be healed in the morning. Shadow Weaver can't go more than a day with her _favorite cadet_ out of commission.” The words had come out a little more bitter than she intended, but Adora didn't seem offended—instead the look she was giving Catra was one of sympathetic concern. Catra looked away. She didn't want anyone's pity, least of all Adora's.

“Catra, I—”

Catra cut her off. “Just sleep, Adora.”

Adora nodded, letting her eyes slip closed.

* * *

A few minutes after ordering Adora to sleep, Catra began quietly poking through the contents of one of the many boxes that filled the abandoned room. Nothing interesting—old medical supplies, half-finished gadgetry, miscellaneous junk. Her rummaging was disturbed by a slight whimper from Adora's direction. Catra dropped the box and quietly walked over.

She looked a little closer. Adora was trembling.

Catra poked her gently in the shoulder. “Hey. What's wrong?”

“Cold,” came the quiet response.

It _was_ rather drafty in the room, and the Horde had a tendency to keep the temperature low in all their buildings. Catra cast her gaze about the room for a blanket, without success. She could risk a trip back to the barracks, but that was practically on the other side of the complex... Shadow Weaver wasn't likely to come back to this room until tomorrow, but she could run into anyone in the halls. Catra sighed.

She briefly checked the contents of a few more boxes—not so much as a towel, let alone a blanket—before finding an old mat bundled in a corner. She rolled it out on the floor. It looked similar to the ones in the barracks, but a bit wider.

That could work.

“Hey, Adora.”

No response. Catra swiveled around. “Adora?”

“Mm?” the response was weak and quiet, and Adora's eyes were barely open. Catra's stomach clenched. She hated herself for having to ask, but—

“Can you move?” She gestured to the mat behind her, laid out near the edge of the room and sheltered from the draft by a short stack of boxes. “That metal slab you're on is like an ice cube.”

Adora closed her eyes again and the furrow between her brows deepened, as though steeling herself for what was about to come. She nodded. She slowly sat up, letting Catra pull her uninjured arm across her shoulders. By the time she was upright and had swiveled her feet to dangle off the table, Adora's teeth were clenched so tight she thought they might crack. Jumping the few inches down the the ground was sheer agony, and for a moment her vision flashed white and she would have sagged to the ground if not for Catra's support.

“Hey, hey!” Catra said. “If you pass out, I'm not carrying you.”

“Sorry,” Adora breathed. Her face was white and her eyes were screwed tightly shut.

She didn't think it was possible, but Catra found herself hating Shadow Weaver just a little bit more.

“Whatever. Come on.”

It was only a few steps to the mat, but each of them sent an agonizing jolt through Adora's arm. She distantly wished Shadow Weaver had just cut it off. That had to hurt less, right?

Adora wasn't quite aware of how she got down on the mat. As she was concerned, that was a good thing, considering how much getting off the table had hurt. She opened her eyes to see Catra crouched next to her, staring at her with—wow, was that concern? She must look bad. Her heartbeat throbbed in her arm and there was a new layer of sweat on her brow despite the chill of the room. She shivered again.

“Catra,” she tried to say, but the word slurred slightly.

Catra continued staring, face unreadable. Her tail flicked back and forth behind her. “You know if you die, I will _personally_ kill you.”

Adora exhaled a shaky laugh. Why was it so _cold_ in that room?

“Y—are you staying?”

Catra flashed her a look. _Of course I am, dummy._ “Don't have anyplace better to be.”

The response was a quiet hum that somehow conveyed both disbelief and fondness.

Adora's eyes slipped closed. A moment later she heard rustling and felt movement on the mat. Adora cracked an eye open to find Catra laying on her back next to next to her, hands folded across her stomach and shoulder pressed against her own. The mat was only a _little_ wider than the ones in the barracks, after all.

“C'tra?”

“I am _not_ sleeping on the floor,” Catra said definitively. “Besides. You're cold. I'm warm. It makes sense.”

“Oh.”

There was silence for a bit. Eyes closed, Catra listened to Adora's breathing—still a little shaky, whether from pain or cold she couldn't tell. She could feel Adora's shoulder trembling where it was pressed against hers. After a minute passed and the shivering hadn't lessened, Catra gave an exasperated sigh and rolled over, curling up against Adora's uninjured side and draping an arm across her stomach. Adora stiffened in surprise, then relaxed. Her shivering began to subside.

“If you tell anyone about this, I'll murder you,” Catra mumbled into Adora's shoulder.

Adora smiled, eyes closed. “I know.”

“Catra?”

“Mm?”

“Thanks.”

Catra opened one eye a slit, checking Adora's expression. It was still and relaxed, aside from a slight pinch in her brow--exhaustion must finally have outweighed the pain in her arm. Well, at least she'd be able to sleep. Catra's eye slipped closed again.

“Forget it.” Then, a little quieter: “We look out for each other, right?”

Adora's voice was soft, barely awake, but her tone was sure.

“Right.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, the title is such an awful pun, lol. “Broken Together” because they've both had broken bones, but also because Shadow Weaver tried to break both of them but it wouldn't work as long as they were together. ;_;
> 
> I know everyone's shipping them, but I just love their friendship.
> 
> Let me know if you liked it! :D


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